


the lady king

by the_dot



Category: Damar Series - Robin McKinley
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Fem!Corlath, Gen, Gonturan (Damar) - Freeform, but first i had to explore her past, the author is queer and wanted lesbian corlath, working title: Corlath Bitch-Slaps A Priest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23758828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dot/pseuds/the_dot
Summary: Are you going to lay there and let it happen? the thing kicking in her chest asked her. Or are you going to do something?
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	the lady king

"This is best for the country," the head priest said, ever gentle. Corlath wondered numbly what his name was; she was sure he'd introduced himself at some point, but it had been lost in the reason he was there.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like her father told her that forgetting names was a bad quality for a princess, but her father was dead. Only the living could worry about propriety, and Corlath had more pressing issues.

"He will arrive in three days' time," the head priest continued. "Your father knew him, and had mentioned arranging a marriage once you came of age; he will lead the country well, and you will have time to grieve."

She knew, vaguely, who he spoke of; a man named Dashir, from an old and honorable family, four years her elder and slated to become a general in the army. Her father had mentioned the idea of a marriage to him exactly once before she loudly and firmly announced that she had no interest in marrying a man; he had let it drop, and she had made no secret of her preferences since. The priest was still talking.

"It is best for Damar," he said, the picture of fatherly compassion. "It must be frightening, but rest assured everything is being handled. This is a difficult time, for you most of all."

She said nothing, eyes on the far wall; her  _ kelar _ had not left them in days, she knew, and it was dangerous for her to look anywhere else. The priest cleared his throat. "Sol—"

A sharp knock came from the door; Faran stepped in without waiting for an answer. His eyes were rimmed red, and they settled on the priest for a moment, frowning vaguely. "Natasin-sola," he said; ah, so that was his name. "I need to speak with the princess."

King's Rider, she thought. What happens to them, now that the man they swore fealty to is dead? Will the new king mark his hand fifteen times? She didn't know what kind of man he was. Did any of the Riders?

"Of course," Natasin-sola said. "I was only telling her of our plans."

Faran stared; he did not look as if he were pleased to be included in an  _ our _ with the head priest. "What plans?"

Natasin-sola repeated what he had told Corlath. Faran said a number of things that you generally should not say to a priest.

"The king's pyre is not yet cold," he nearly shouted. It occured to Corlath that she had never seen gentle-tempered Faran so angry; where was her own anger? "I was there when he turned down your  _ suggestions _ as to who the princess should marry, and now not hours after his funeral you accost her with talk of marriage? She's not even of age!"

"She will be by the time he gets here," Natasin-sola protested. "I only want what's best for our country  _ and  _ our princess. She deserves time to grieve without the country hanging over her head." He even almost sounded like he believed what he was saying.

Faran looked to be gearing up for another shout; Corlath rose suddenly, and both men looked at her, startled. "I'm tired," she said. "It's been a long day."

"Corlath," Faran said unhappily.

"I am glad one of you can see reason," Natasin-sola said smoothly; if Faran had  _ kelar _ the priest would have been dead where he stood. "Someone will be along soon to speak of—"

"Good day to you both," she replied, ignoring his offended look, and walked out of her father's office. As soon as the door shut behind her, she broke into a run, startling the  _ hafor _ as she went. The ghost of the priest's words chased after her, rattling in her ears.

~

The servants still dusted and kept things tidy in the queen's old rooms, though no one else had entered them in years. Corlath laid on the floor, staring sightlessly at the roof. She had half expected the fountains to still work, but obviously they had been turned off to save water; without them, the silence screamed.

Dashir had arrived just before dinner; Corlath held one stilted conversation with him and contrived to be busy the rest of the evening, ducking him and head priest Natasin and even the Riders, who all wanted to speak of the morning, where she would turn eighteen and queen and wife all in one sunrise. And then, Natasin-sola assured her, she would be able to grieve while her new husband saw to the affairs of the country.

He talks as if no other royal has grieved before, she thought, though one's parents must die for one to become a king or queen. One would imagine that the beginning of every king or queenship is marked by grief, and yet my ancestors have gotten on just fine.

She breathed out harshly; the stones whispered back. If she turned her head, she could see her mother sitting at the base of the fountain; Corlath had spent most of her childhood winters there at her mother's feet, listening to her low smooth voice as she repeated the stories of Aerin and Gonturan and queens long past. She did not turn her head.

She sat up suddenly, staring at the blue light playing around her. Outside, the sky was beginning to consider lightening; dawn would break soon.

Are you going to lay there and let it happen? the thing kicking in her chest asked her. Or are you going to do something?

"Corlath-sol?" a voice called. One of the  _ hafor _ , a harried-looking woman bearing a bundle of bright cloth that was probably a wedding dress, poked her head through the door, relaxing when she saw Corlath. "Sol, it is time to get ready. Dawn is near."

"Thank you," Corlath said. "I'll dress myself."

"But—" the woman tried to protest, appalled.

"Thank you," Corlath repeated, taking the bundle from her and walking briskly back into the palace. She dropped the bundle in her room, pulled out her own coat and flowing trousers, put her sash around her waist; the pressure of it was almost too much with the beating of her heart, but she couldn't very well go without it. She left for the vault, hurrying past servants who called after her in worry; when she glanced out the window, only the edges of twilight hung in the sky. She had to be quick.

The guards at the vault asked her something, but she didn't hear them and didn't know what she said in return; her brain had filled with white noise, and a faint whisper reached her ears as she pushed past the door. Her legs shook like a newborn foal's, but somehow she managed to reach the other side of the room, to the metal chest humming her name.

Corlath, Corlath, come here, Gonturan said, and to Corlath it was a voice she had heard her whole life, in the edges of her anger and the grit of sand on skin and the glare of the sun in the southern desert. I have waited for you too long. Come here.

Shaking hands opened the tooled iron and removed the blackened fabric bundle. She had to stop before she dropped it—she didn't think Gonturan would take kindly to being dropped, no matter how long she had waited—and the humming increased in urgency. When she finally unwrapped it, some stray beam of light caught the blue gem, lighting the entire vault blue for a split second; when she grasped the hilt it melded to her hand as if it had been made for her and her alone.

"Sol," a far-off voice called, sounding uncomfortable. "The head priest is asking for you; he says it's time for the ceremony."

Go on, Gonturan purred. Show him who you are. Show him what happens to those who would stand against you.

Corlath rose shakily, fastened the sword to her sash, and drew herself up as best as she could; even if she felt like a scared little girl, it would never do to show it now. She swept out of the vault; the head priest waited for her as promised. Faran stood at his side, looking tired.

"Sol," Natasin-sola said irritably. He was decked out in his full priest's robes, his sash tied wrong for the slippery velvet; he kept tugging it up. "You're going to be—" He caught sight of Gonturan on her hip, eyes widening. The guards gaped openly. Faran started laughing, huge belly-laughs that echoed down the hall and made the other  _ hafor _ scurrying about in preparation for the ceremony look over; they stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Corlath.

"I'm going to be late," she said, and brushed past them all. She got to the main balcony, where the Book of Kings and the Book of Queens were laid side by side, the Hero's Crown on a podium beside them. The Riders—except Faran—stretched out to one side, looking solemn and tired. Dashir stood to the other, looking out nervously at the crowd; when she followed his gaze, it seemed as if all of Damar had piled into the City to see the coronation—and wedding. The statues of the Seven Perfect Gods, settled around the city center, watched impassively; she wondered if they knew of her plan, and what they thought. She would find out soon enough.

"Not good with crowds?" she muttered to Dashir, and he shook his head before he, too, caught sight of her sword; she didn't give him a chance to react. "Don't worry, you won't have to deal with them today."

" _ Wait _ ," Natasin-sola said, stepping in front of her; he looked slightly worse for having chased her through the palace. "Sol, what are you—"

"He will not be king," she said. "Move."

It might have been unkind to look him full in the face when she said it, but it was less unkind than arranging a marriage for a grieving child; he moved, dazed, and she strode up to the Book of Kings before anyone could stop her. The first ray of sun over the Hills touched the highest peak of the castle.

"I swear that all I say is the deepest truth of my soul," she read in the Old Tongue; there was no sound but her voice and the roaring of her own heart in her ears. The whole City watched with bated breath. "I stand before Ikadin the hunter, Aerinha the blacksmith, Santil the teacher, Kytas the warrior, Gholotat the mother, Zhara the king of light, and Hanmay the queen of peace; let these seven Perfect Gods strike me down if I am unfit to be King."

She looked up at the statues; a second passed, then two, and she let out a soft, shaky breath before continuing. She named the twelve Just and Glorious and the corresponding twelve names of the king; she swore under the gaze of her gods to serve and protect her country to the last breath, and that she would shield them with any Gift she possessed. The sun climbed higher as she spoke; by the time she reached the end, it touched the balcony she stood on.

"I swear," she said, first in the Old Tongue, then hesitated and continued in Common. "I swear to uphold the honorable laws of our country until my last breath, and when they are unjust I will bring them down; I will serve the people of Damar as they serve the crown of the King."

She held her wrist out to Natasin-sola and waited patiently, then very gently plucked the ritual quill from the still-gaping priest and pricked her own wrist; it drank three drops of her blood, and she signed her name in the Book of Kings.

"The crown," someone said; they sounded as if they were rallying from a great illness. "The crown, lady."

Corlath knelt. The Hero's Crown was placed around her temples; when she looked up, the sun blinded her and glittered over the Book of Kings. It was done.

"Rise, Corlath-sol, King of Damar," the priest said. From behind her came the sound of fifteen swords drawing in unison; the King's Riders were swearing fealty to their new king. She rose, shaking, as a great cheer swept over the City.

Zhara-sol, they said. Lady King! Come look, come look; the blood of Damar is King again!

**Author's Note:**

> (disclaimer: i pulled anything you don't recognize from the ceremony to the names Directly Out Of My Ass, it is all only for The Fic i don't know how this stuff works. i am a mostly-white person living in america with all of the weirdness that comes with that, but i did my best to be Not Awful.) (literally all i wanted was to write about corlath being a gay disaster for harry. that's it. i never intended to write this. how did it happen)  
> there. MAY be a part two to this, someday. i hope. We Shall See.  
> thanks to elle and silver for betaing and Being Buds, and cilia for listening to me yell about lady corlath all those months ago. this fic wouldn't exist without them! I Cry Every Time I Think Of How Wonderful My Friends Are.  
> mckinley tumblr: [damarcore](https://damarcore.tumblr.com)  
> main tumblr: [the-dot](https://the-dot.tumblr.com)  
> if you like robin mckinley's works and want to talk with like-minded folks, come join [the mckinley yelling discord server](https://discord.gg/HdSn8g), where we discuss whether or not luthe is a concubine! fun times!  
> thank you for reading!  
> 


End file.
